


Mr Saxobeat

by st_aurafina



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Young Avengers
Genre: Epic sax solo, Eurovision, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2726648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/pseuds/st_aurafina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate has a terrible plan, but America is willing to indulge her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr Saxobeat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilacsigil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsigil/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Lilacsigil. Thanks for making the connection between Sebastian Stan and Alexandra Stan! 
> 
> (No Eurovision officials were harmed in the making of this fic.)

"This is a terrible plan," said America, lounging on the sofa like she had always been here. "Why don't you call Noh-Varr? He knows about this music thing." 

"No!" Kate shimmied into her sequinned dress. "This is personal. This is between me and Madame Masque. I'll be on the stage right in front of her. I'll never be able to get closer without rousing her suspicions." She reached for the mascara wand, and brandished it aggressively. "This time, she'll be sorry."

America held the mirror up obligingly. "I just think it would be easier and more fun to kick in the windows and go to town on people with our fists." 

Kate looked down on her fondly and said "Help me lace up my boots."

"Okay. Sure. " America slid off the sofa and knelt in front of Kate, tugging the long purple leather further up Kate's thighs. "I'm well aware you're using this as a distraction from your complete lack of plan, by the way, but I'm indulging you because…" she stopped talking and pressed the leather against Kate's skin with one hand. "Yeah, that." 

Kate thought America was adjusting to life in this dimension pretty damn well. 

Behind them, Clint shook his tambourine experimentally. "This is actually surprisingly aerodynamic." 

Kate stretched herself up tall so that America could find all the wrinkles in the leather, and smooth them flat. "You're supposed to play it, not throw it." 

"Well, yeah," said Clint. "I knew that." He shook it again, a little less hesitant, then let loose at great speed. "DRUM SOLO!" he shouted, whacking it on his heel, his knee, his other heel, Lucky's head, and, just as the door swung open, on his ass. 

Captain America stood in the doorway, with his weird silent friend at his side.

Clint froze, with his ass stuck out and the tambourine pressed hard against it. "Okay, this looks bad." 

"Uh," said Cap. "We can come back later?" 

America leaned out from behind Kate's legs. "No, you should totally come in, especially if you can play musical instruments. Real ones, not those dinky plastic things from Guitar Hero. This might not be my home dimension, but I have a feeling Madame Masque will be able to tell the difference." 

Kate stamped her foot. She had this all worked out in her head, and there were no interlopers, especially not Avenger interlopers. Except for Clint; he didn't count, and besides she needed a tambourine girl. "No! This is my plan, and it's my musical number, and it's going to work out just fine without outside help. I mean, how long does it even take to write a pop song these days?"

The weird silent friend broke his silence. "Seven hours in a closed studio with no interruptions." 

Every head turned to look at him, even Captain America. "Really?" he said. 

Clint leaned over with a shiver of tambourine cymbals, to whisper in Kate's ear. "He's going to do the thing." 

"He does a thing?" said Kate, interested. 

"Well," said Clint, bunching up for a good gossip. "He's doing all kinds of memory recovery treatments, right? And every now and then, he kind of goes blank, and then he goes: 'It was [SEASON] of [YEAR]. I was posing as [OCCUPATION], in order to [INFILTRATE/OBSERVE/KILL] [SUBJECT], an enemy of HYDRA.'"

The silent guy had opened his mouth to speak, but at Clint's words he closed it again, and instead clenched his big metal fist. Cap put an arm around him. 

"Bucky, you know I want to hear about everything. Clint's just being defensive; we've talked about this." 

Kate punched Clint in the side, and the tambourine rattled. "Sorry, dude," said Clint. "You gotta tell the stories, I get that. But that thing with the croissants was a bit of a surprise."*

Bucky nodded, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, then let the words spill out. "It was the spring of 2010. I was posing as a Eurovision saxophonist in order to assassinate Stig Svante Stockselius, an enemy of Hydra," he gasped in a rush. 

The room fell silent. 

"You play the sax?" said Clint. "The Winter Soldier plays the sax? At Eurovision?!" 

America put her hand over Clint's mouth. "Better question: did it work?" Kate liked the way she thought, even if it was doubtful she knew what a saxophone was. 

Buck shook his head. "Didn't make the finals," he said, sadly. 

"Probably for the best, buddy," Cap said, squeezing his shoulder gently. 

"This better be on Youtube" Kate whipped out her phone. "Oh. My. God." 

Everyone gathered around the tiny screen to watch the gyrations and the epic sax solo.** The evening devolved, as Bucky tried to reclaim the implanted memories of the fingering for Careless Whisper, and Clint badgered Cap into ordering pizza. 

America pulled Kate onto her lap. "This isn't about a plan to take Madame Masque down, is it?" 

"It totally is," Kate said, weakly. She found it difficult to be defiant with a warm belly full of pizza and America's strong shoulders to lean into. 

America stroked her hair. "You wanted to impress her." 

"No! She's totally evil," Kate protested. At the other end of the sofa, Clint had flushed out a ukulele from somewhere, and Bucky was fitting his metal hand gently on the frets.

America shrugged. "Okay. She's totally evil and you wanted to impress her, I get that."

Kate sighed. "She makes me overthink everything." 

"You want to go port into her limo on the way to the concert?" asked America. "Nice and simple, and yet very impressive. With much potential for headkicking or making out. Or both." America was a very open-minded person. 

"Okay," said Kate. She impulsively pressed a kiss to America's lips. "Let's go." 

They slipped out of the apartment, leaving behind the plangent tones of "We'll Meet Again" picked out on the ukulele.

 

* "It was the autumn of 1963. I was posing as a pâtissier in order to poison Bridget Bardot, an enemy of Hydra."

** Epic sax solo:  



End file.
